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I had the opportunity to attend a professional conference for African American executives. Here I met the crème de la crème – serious movers and shakers both inside and outside the black community, in every field imaginable. It was an awesome experience.

Except for this.one .thing.

I’m sitting in a keynote speech, trying to get my inclusion discussion on, and look to the left to see the tell-tale harsh ass hairline of a lace front wig, inclusive of baby hair and glue residue. The wearer, a nice looking woman in a snug skirt suit, stroked her hairline absentmindedly, probably checking to make sure her shit was secured.

*sigh*

Ladies,

At what point did you think rocking a lace front wig/weave was a good idea? Cause, up close and in real life, it’s not. Unless you live a life on stage, playing Miss Celie in the 72nd Street Missionary Baptist Church original play, They’re Eyes are Watching the Color Purple, you should not ever wear a lace front. Why?

A couple of reasons:

You probably can NOT afford a nice one. Them shits are OVER $1000. But instead of either a.) Saving your part time paycheck from Popeye’s or b.)Forgoing this bad idea all together and buying useful shit like rent, all the single ladies buy the cheaper alternatives and end up with a plastic wig and a truncated forehead, looking like Drake with that severe ass hairline.

It will take your edges all the way the fuck out. Glue + baby hair = bald…Talk about bad for your hair. As most things black women do to their hair, there are potentially dire consequences which in turn can breed dependence because having a hairline that appears to be drawn on with a sharpie is better than having no hairline at all.

You are NOT Beyoncé. Beyoncé could shave her head, glue the newly removed hair to her nipples as pasties, and bust out doing The Sprinkler, and the stans will still say, “That’s fierce.” Will the stans do that for you? I.don’t. think.so. Instead of thinking, “What Would Beyoncé Do?” try thinking, “What would someone who is NOT Beyoncé do?” Trust me. It works.

You are NOT fooling anyone. As an avid non lace front wig wearer, I understand that, at some point, you just have to stop giving a shit about whether or not people think the hair on your head is yours, and just rock out with your cock out anyway. However, that does not preclude the wearer from ensuring they don’t look like she is actively being assaulted by a pack of rabid ring tailed lemurs. Why is this better than your real hair again?

And I’m not just talking to Basic Heaux. These women are executives in major companies, small business owners, and in here rocking a lace fronts like we were at a Jamaican dance hall party. So unless they were Basics in Disguise, which happens, this is an epidemic that is overtaking the nation. From the check-out girl at Target to the CEOs of small business, the lace front has crept up from the strip clubs and tacky bars and infiltrated our churches, homes and places of business. It sees no class, no economic boundaries. Accompanied by their compatriots, ridiculously long French manicured porn star nails and 6 inch, brightly colored platform stilettos, the lace front further blurs the line between heaux and housewife, professional woman and stripper dressed as a professional woman, hired for an office prank.

This madness has got to stop.

Join me, sisters, in solidarity to stop the tacky, poorly made, cheap theatrical wig movement. Send our donations to idogiveafuck@yodaddy.com (not to be confused with my hate mail address, Idontgiveafuck@yomama.com) and stand with me as I mock, ridicule, and shame these women into some damn sense because they look a hot steaming ghetto ass mess. And we can’t have that, can we?

Allow me to begin with a disclaimer:
First, not everyone with natural hair is a bitch. Second, I attended a historically black college (in fact, the first historically black college)so I know all about oppression, European standards of beauty, and society’s impact on my psyche. I get it. You are not your hair.

And neither am I, BITCH.

Recently i had the opportunity to come under the ire of The Natural Nazi. A friend tweeted, during the Super Bowl, “My daughter has hair like Troy Palamalu.” I retweeted, as my daughter is similarly situated, and moved on, unprepared for the shitstorm that followed. @afrobitch47 (not her real tag) said, “congrats?” Then @nappyheadhoe21 (also not her real handle) said “I know right? Does she want a cookie?” Then @nap4life (made that one up, too) throws in some shit about me having a “slave mentality.”

Bitch, what?

So let me set s few things straight here. First, in the effort of full disclosure, I am a jiggaboo (rather be me than you). My confirmed European ancestry is not only lacking an appearance in my skin tone, but in my hair texture as well. Without a relaxer, I have hair like a slave. Like a pure, uncut, fresh off the shores of Ghana, slave. So to be clear:

This is not an assault on your choice of hair styles. This is an assault on your excessive bitchiness as it pertains to your constant insistence that anyone with a perm (or who might not *need* a perm) is demonstrating a “slave mentality” for appreciating their silky locs, whether they were achieved naturally or not. So before you engage me on the merits of being chemical free based on some sort of effort to thwart the psychological impacts of The Man, allow me to remind you of some undeniable facts, none of which are based on science, data, or historical accuracy.

Here goes:

Natural isn’t always natural. Why do The Natural Nazis give the Relaxed such a hard time, but they can dye their locs all kinds of orange? So what you’re saying is, I can blow dry the shit out of my hair, causing as much damage as a relaxer, dye it blonde, but slide some dark and lovely on it, and now I’m a victim of the oppressor’s standard of beauty?

Are you serious right now?

Natural Hair isn’t impacting your dating life. But you looking homeless and unloved is. You’re over here thinking men don’t want you because your natural hair indicates a woman who might be “too strong” for them when in actuality, it might indicate a woman who has questionable personal hygiene. You might struggle in love because you think “natural” means not having to shave your upper lip. Seriously, wax that shit.

Natural hair is not easier/cheaper to care for. There are women who can do their own hair, and there are women who can’t and therefore pay a lot of momey to have someone else do it. A perm doesn’t dictate the difference. Your inability to follow the directions of a youtube video does.

Natural hair ≠ Revolutionary. You’re not an intellectual. You’re not a visionary. You’re not “different.” You’re not making a statement with your hair, unless that statement is, “I’m a pretentious asshole.”

Natural hair is NOT for everyone. This is an undeniableFACT. I recently saw a woman who had chosen to cut her hair into a fade. This is not a good idea if you’re not sure of the actual shape of your head, or the potential to have what appears to be a pack of hotdogs on your neck. Or, most importantly

You’re ugly.

Natural hair only emphasizes your natural beauty. And if you are unfortunate enough to not have any of that, it only emphasizes the fact that you might look like a wildebeest. Know what you need? Two packs of indian remy, cut with a long side swept bang, Aaliyah style, to hide half of your hideous facade so that I can talk to you without throwing up in my mouth.

I haven’t relaxed my hair in over a year, but I hold that secret close to my chest because I don’t want to be associated with people who think it’s a good idea to make people with hair like Troy Palamalu feel bad about it.

So instead of exposing your own self-consciousness about your own “situation” by telling me what to do with mine, you should probably just…

STFU.*

*I tried. I seriously tried to write a blog where I wouldn’t have to tell someone to STFU, and I failed
Oh well.
Please direct your hatemail to idontgivefuck@yamama.com.

This morning I woke up, exchanged a few pleasantries with my husband, and it occurred to me:

I struggle at some point, at least once a day, to not tell my husband to kiss my ass.

Seriously, EVERY.SINGLE.DAY.

This epiphany led me down a train of thought that made me realize that I can’t quite possibly be alone in this thinking. And then it occurred to me that many single women don’t know lies in store when they consider the benefits of marriage. And not only do they not know that every day, without fail, there will be moments where you will want to cuss your husband the fuck out, but what they really don’t know is that you can’t. I repeat, you CANNOT tell your husband, the man you love and have chosen to spend the rest of your life with, to shut the fuck up. That means you can’t tell him to kiss your ass, or go to hell either. You can think it. You can tweet it. You can even text it to your best friend and say it JUST how you want to say it to him. But you can’t say it to him. Why?

Because you want to *stay* married, that’s why.

Whether you like it or not, these little displays of “affection” can undermine teamwork, erode the marriage, and open the door for a response like, “fuck you and yo punk ass daddy,” which, if you recall John Legend’s “Ordinary People” video, is the type of shit that will get you slapped dead in your mouth, in slow motion, with a camera there to capture your stunned reaction.

And you can’t be with an abuser, right? RIGHT?

So, I’m going to help you with that. I’m gonna tell you the truth about what lies on the other side of the broom, and how you might want to deal with that. It is at this point where I had considered inserting some type of “this isn’t applicable to everyone” or “every relationship is different” disclaimer, but then it occurred to me, if you take this seriously enough to be offended, then not only have I done my job, but the terrorists have won, and there’s some oceanfront property in Arizona I’d like to sell you.

Here goes:

All Sex Everything. A lot of people are under the impression that one of the best thing about marriage is that sex is at your beck and call. #FALSE. Not gonna happen. Make all the demands and delusional claims of daily sex fests you want. It’s simply just not going to happen. While I am quickly approaching the age where sex < sleep, I haven’t always been this old, and I can say that all sex, all the time, not only makes for sore special places, but doesn’t improve intimacy. Just to be clear – I am not a cuddler. I will not claim that cuddling and affectionate touching can take the place of sex as far as driving intimacy. What I am saying is that intimacy is an emotional construct that can happen without any touching at all. You just have to figure out what that means for your relationship. To the converse, though, I must admit – the sex gets better. Honestly, a few years under your belt should give you enough experience with this person to have them coming in (moan) 8 seconds, so it becomes more about quality versus quantity. Boredom? I can’t speak on it. It’s not an issue for me as I never find orgasms to be boring. Ever. If you do, maybe you should try bungee jumping instead of marriage.

You will hate your In-Laws. Seriously. Unless you are fortunate enough to have married an only child orphan, who I am sure come with their own set of issues, there is no way you’re going to avoid in-laws, and the subsequent love-hate relationships that will result. “But me and his mama/sister/best-friend-but-like-a-cousin are cool,” you say. Okay. You cool NOW. All you need is one perceived slight around the holidays involving distant a cousin and a misplaced stamp, to bring you to the harsh reality that they just might be crazy…as fuck… you can’t forget the “as fuck.” Just don’t get sucked into their drama. Unless you can have them all dispatched by a ninja assassin squad (contact El Jugo, serious inquiries only) its best to just be okay with them calling you stuck up for not wanting to come around…ole bougie ass…

Money, money, money, mooooney…..mooooney. Talking about money makes me want to choke slam a baby. I want to run bamboo skewers though my eyeballs, and have even faked a seizure to get out of having to talk to my husband about money. This is the conversation where I am MOST CLOSE to telling my husband to kiss my black ass. All my independent woman bullshit boils over, my lips smack, my neck starts to roll, and I start rattling off my stats like he should STILL be impressed 5 years after the fact. Guess what? He’s not. And I am sure you heard all of that “talk about money before you get married,” and I am sure you have or will. But you have to continue talking about money. Even if – hell, ESPECIALLY if – it’s painful. All the time. Like every month. Discussing money with my husband makes me want to throw up in mouth, I hate it SO MUCH. However, if I didn’t, he would probably divorce me because I squandered our savings on moderately priced shoes, failed business ventures, and jordans for my son, just to prove he can’t tell me what to do with MY money, nigga. But it’s not MY money – it’s OURS…which brings me to

Separate but Equal. Checking accounts. Might not have worked for Brown v. Topeka Board of Education, but it works in my house. …I’m just sayin…

Pick Your Battles. This does NOT mean “compromise all your values and morals so that he doesn’t get mad at you.” This simply means…
STFU every now and again. Sound familiar? I bet it does. Direct all your hate mail to idontgiveafuck@yomama.com. There are times when your significant other may say or do something that causes your eyes to squint, cut to the left, and the next sound you hear is the ominous hum of an unsheathed light saber as your prepare for an epic battle. And every now and again, those battles are necessary. But do you REALLY want to sever his limbs over a toilet seat? Is it really worth it? If every perceived slight equals you feeling like he’s disrespecting you, and now you feel like you need to “check his ass,” then why are you married in the first place? Check yoself before you…I think you know the rest. Being the angry black woman is SO passé.

Everybody plays the fool. I have heard some nonsense about marrying someone who loves you more than you love them. Thing is, at any given point in the relationship, who likes who more is going to change. This means that, one day, you’re going to look up and YOU’RE gonna be the sucka MC. You’re gonna be all Lenny’d out, wailing about watching television until television went off, waiting on your spouse to look up and realize how much you love and do for them, when just 3 weeks ago you were trying to sneak away to get some space from their clingy ass. It happens. And you need to be okay with that.

So, now that you know what’s on the other side of the game, you can make an informed decision. Marriage is a legal union, a business partnership with some sex sprinkled in to make it complicated and interesting. It’s a wonderful opportunity to be the best you can be and an awful social experiment that shows what happens when two strangers pick each other to love and live with, and shit starts getting real. And I, personally, love it.~klkenned

*sigh*
There’s been some conversation, “chronicling” if you will, about life on the Sideline. It’s been largely documented as largely male phenomena, but I’d like to clear something up for you all out there. I know I’ve spent some time talking about how to get a man and vice versa, but let me let you in on a little secret:Not every woman wants a man.
And by “a man” I mean “a boyfriend,” a “husband,” a “relationship” with expectations, boundaries, and obligations and shit. And more specifically, she doesn’t want all that with YOU. Most of you guys seem to be under the erroneous impression that women should be impressed by your good looks, credentials, and “game,” to the point where you seem to think every woman you meet wants to be your wife. They want to lock you down, so you have to lie and manipulate to stroke your ego get what you want. You seem to think you’re so super slick that we can’t see that you ain’t shit. But we can. We know. And half the damn time…We just don’t care!!
People believe that all women are full of emotion and attachment. That she thinks sex is beautiful and to be cherished between 2 people who love each other. You think that she loves every man she dates, that she puts up with your bullshit and your lies because she cares about you.
*Buzzer* WRONG!!!

She puts up with it because she has no interest in actually BEING with you. Game recognize game, Granddad. You’re “practice,” and practice makes perfect – perfect for someone who ain’t you. And what she told me she’d like me to tell you is this familiar, yet little used phrase:
You ain’t gotta lie to kick it.
True story:
Since I’m presently married, let’s just say I know a friend who once knew a young man while back in college. He was a nice enough young fellow, kinda pretty, but seemed to think she didn’t notice 2 things:

He was broke as hell.

He was a man whore (no offense to El Jugo).

As a result, she wasn’t interested in spending time with him, and by “time” I mean “any other time in which they would NOT be fucking.” However, failing to see her disinterest in anything not carnal, he continued to lie about the amount of money he earned, and that the man-faced woman she saw him at the mall with was NOT his girlfriend. But my friend didn’t care about those things cause she didn’t care about him. He was just “company,” so you can imagine she was appalled when he had the audacity to ask for the keys to her sweet off-campus apartment because they were “dating.” Ummmm…Did you notice how she didn’t speak to you when she saw you and Man Face at the mall? Or how about the whole “She only calls you after midnight” thing? Missed that part? Cause if anyone’s ever started a sentence with, “I mean, you cool and all, …” then you’re clearly not dating…

So, let me provide 5 little handy hints on how to properly identify your role as the Sideline Breaux (sounds like Heaux, but bro…it’s creole):

You can’t sleep over.No need to make up excuses about where you’re headed because her roommate “doesn’t like overnight guests.” Or she’s got an 8:00am meeting/appointment/class and needs a good night’s rest which doesn’t involve you trying to cuddle with her. . . Cause she only cuddles with people she likes…like her man which she may or may not already have…but is clearly not you.

You’ve never seen her bedroom. You only play on the couch, or at your house. Why? Cause her man sleeps there and she doesn’t want to disrespect her relationship. POW!

Don’t ask, don’t tell. She’s spends a lot of time not asking you where you’ve been because a.) She doesn’t care and b.) She doesn’t want you to feel like its okay for you to do the same. Let’s just keep this shit light, okay?

No PDA. Even women who don’t like PDA will tolerate the shit from her MAN. But YOU? Naaaaw, buddy. *hands in pockets* No unsanctioned touching and no longing glances from across the room. And stop calling to grab lunch. I already have lunch plans with the guy I’m NOT having sex because I’d like to pursue something serious with HIM. Not YOU. I’LL call YOU…

No Favors. No, you can’t borrow my car because your car is in the shop. No, you can’t hold a little something till pay day. Don’t you understand that we ain’t friends and that I’m NOT your woman?

And these handy dandy tips all boil down to one key point that I’d like you to internalize in your tiny hearts:
Women are better at keeping a dude on the sidelines then men will EVER BE. Your sad and insatiable desire for pussy to have your ego stroked will always lead to you looking like a simp, and eventually, a lonely simp as the woman you love will leave, your sideline will have met another rapper/baller, one will take her to Cancun unlike your broke ass. Professional sideline heaux can build careers off being a sideline heaux (I see you, Basketball Wives!). Sideline breaux are just happy to be here. No one is paying their rent. Where is their reality show? There isn’t one.

Unless…. [GIANT DISCLAMER]

Unless you are capable of The Ultimate Fuckmedown. *thunder rolls, lightening flashes, cue “I’m Sprung”*
If you’re going to be a Sideline Breaux that is worthy some rent money, a little something to hold until pay day, and the jeopardization of whatever relationship she may have with the man she intends to really be with, you have GOT to bring the pain, both literally and figuratively. Backs must be blown out, hair pulled, rug burn on the palms of her hands. So if she doesn’t say to you, “I’ve never done that before!” then you, sir, have failed, and no, you can’t stay the night. My roommate doesn’t like overnight guests.

And for the record, Sideline Heaux aren’t the only ones who catch feelings. You think, she’s cool, she’s got some things going for her, she likes to have sex, she’s secure and she doesn’t make any demands of you and boom! You just might start to really “like” her…then think you’re even “dating” and even try to ask her who that guy was you saw her with at Starbucks (“A caramel macchiato? Noooooooooo!). It happens. But that doesn’t change who you are, Sideline Breaux. In fact, it just complicates things…But, we don’t like being alone, so until we find someone that’s worth cooking for or talking to, you’ll do.

Lately I’ve been taking stock of my life, evaluating my relationships, and why they aren’t as awesome as they could be. I think, “Gee, I can’t STAND being around so and so for more than 2 hours. Why is that?” My phone rings and I avoid some people’s calls like the plague. Why do I need a nap after a 30 minute conversation with my mother in law? After some serious consideration, it occurred to me:
I think I may hate 60% of the people I know. I just don’t LIKE these people.
And by “these people” I could quite possibly be talking about YOU.
I know you honestly think no one understands you because you’re so “different” or “special.” Pastor says people hate on you because you are “blessed and favored.” In fact, you probably think EVERYBODY likes you. But I’m here to let you in on a little secret. Lean in real close because I’m about to say something you probably need to hear.
Nobody likes you. And it’s not them, it’s YOU.
You’re not “special.” You’re annoying. And the worst part is…
You don’t even know it.
So now that I have let the cat out of the bag, I’d like to also let you in on a few things that may be the cause of your strained relationships and lonely nights. You can thank me later.
You got bad ass kids:
Ladies – you know I’m about to say something you don’t want to hear so if you didn’t like being told to STFU, then maybe you should stop reading. right.now… I’ll give you a second to find something else to do… Here’s a link to Bossip so you can occupy your empty mind space with meaningful shit…
…
There is nothing that is a bigger turn off than a woman with bad ass kids. I know being a single mom is hard, I’ve been one. I’ve also been a married one and its not any easier. It’s hard maintaining any symbiotic relationship where you have to be ALL things – provider, nurturer, disciplinarian, drill sergeant, maid, etc and all they have to do is stay alive, so you’ve let some things slide. Thing is, you can’t. You let up on love and attention, and they become a sociopath. Let up on discipline and they become a sociopath. Let up ANY aspect of childrearing and your kid is destined to be what? A sociopath. You’re a mother. You don’t get a break. It’s the decision you chose to make when you decided to keep that $315 in exchange for your soul. But that’s not my point.
My point is – any kid who is allowed to act a damn fool without correction, under the adoring gaze of his pointless mother, will not be invited back to my home. Period.
Fig. 1 Your bad ass kid being escorted from my home.
Your child is NOT welcome in my home if they intend to cry endlessly, whine incessantly, make a mess and refuse to clean up, or do anything I may even perceive as a threat to my kids including my very sweet and small dog. And if you, pointless mother, can’t come over without said kid, then you, pointless mother, aren’t invited either…

You talk to damn much:
Oh yeah. Bet this looks real familiar…
Ever wonder how you went from being the one always in the know to THE LAST to know? It’s because you talk too damn much. People don’t want to tell you shit because you tell everybody else. For whatever reason you think it’s a good idea to tell everyone else’s business (maybe it’s because you have none of your own) you need to understand that a person just needs one good run-in with your big mouth before they change your name in their cell from “Shaun” to “Do Not Answer.”
And another point – Allow me to quote myself here:
“One of the most endearing traits of a dear friend of mine is his refusal to share the intimate details of his encounters with women. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH ASS YOU CAN GET IF YOU JUST STFU??? I feel like I need to say that again.
DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH ASS YOU CAN GET IF YOU JUST STFU??? “
-klkenned
You thought it would be a good idea to “mention” to a mutual friend that you smashed. NOT a good idea, especially if you’d EVER LIKE TO SMASH AGAIN. This not only makes you look like a hater, but it makes you look like you’re super excited to just be having sex. What are you, 12? Did she let you touch her boobies *giggles*? Women are just as adept at not answering your phone call as men are. STFU.
You’s a Heaux
Ever pulled a two for one deal? You know, where you invite one “friend” over and you “hang out” and he leaves and another “friend” calls and you “hang out” and nine months later you’re on Maury having one of those “friends” pop and lock his way through a NOT the father celebratory dance? Well I haven’t. And I don’t fuck with heauxs who have.
Now my male friends may disagree with this particular sentiment, but I have to be honest. If I think you’re a heaux, we can’t be friends.
Fig. 2 Heauxs I can’t be friends with…
I live in a community of bored heauxwives (heauxs who have been wifed) and it has occurred to me that The Heaux Tribe has no loyalty to anyone. They sleep with each other’s husbands then act like they didn’t. This isn’t Sula – we aren’t just gonna stop talking. I will stomp you the fuck out, if I even THINK I see you looking heaux-eyed at my husband. I will mistakenly stomp out bitches who I thought might have been you. “But we’ve all made mistakes in the past…” say the heaux. Yes, and like felons, who spend their whole lifetimes paying for them, you will, too. *stomp stomp stomp* I know that *may* put me in the next category but I’m willing to risk losing a few friends over my marriage 
You’re crazy:
You think you got blocked on twitter and unfriended on facebook because you were “keeping it real.” No, you got blocked and unfriended because you just might be a killer kung fu wolf bitch.
Fig. 3 Thanks, Granddad.
Have you ever flown into a rage at the slightest perceived provocation, hell bent on ruining everyone’s good time, then the next day, acted like the shit. never. happened? You are crazy. Ever met someone and, on the first encounter, start telling them about your child molestation and resulting trust issues? Crazy. Ever engaged in a relatively intellectual conversation with someone but instead of acting like you had a point or some common sense, you would rather shout profanity and call them names? Crazy. AND immature.
You scare people. People don’t want to talk to you or invite you to girl’s weekend away because they are afraid of you. Your volatility, your insatiable need for attention, and your sad, sad reality are the kinds of things people don’t want around when they’re trying to have fun. Really, if people walk away from your conversation, frustrated and unwilling to participate because you can’t play nice, you may need to check your level of maturity… and check into a psych ward.
I know for a fact there are people who don’t like me for whatever reason (According to my last blog, it’s because I’m “a bitch.” Who knew?). This is a fact that I am comfortable with because I know that, while they’re mad I called out their bad ass kids or blocked them on twitter, my life is doing very well without them in it. So, ninja friends, think about the time you waste spending it with people you don’t really like, and think about WHY you don’t like them… Then get rid of their ass.
I hope you found this little exercise of introspection to be as cathartic as I did.
Until next time,
Klkenned
And yes, you can follow me on twitter…

I said:
STFU. I think this is pretty self explanatory. There’s no science to shutting up. He’s not listening to you because if he had to listen to you every time you opened your mouth, he could NEVER DO ANYTHING ELSE. STFU.

And my readers said:

Particularly disgusting is the advice a woman sucking one’s way to a wedding ring. This will not guarantee a thing except maybe some STDs in a highly visible area.
Keeping silent as a war tactic to deceive a guy will only lead him to not knowing who you really are, and it also demeans him to the role of an enemy… not the kind to avoid, but the kind to lay a trap for and feed off of like a parasite. Way to go… Our nonstop war mentality has invaded our hearts and our bedrooms, and with the advice in this post, I see no peace. – K.I.T.

her married man is probably creeping with one of the single women because he enjoys her conversation…. LOL!!!!!
– H.R.

Otherwise, it sounds like another bird-ass married bitch (and I do mean bitch) giving advice about somewhere people are different. Fuck her. AND
I’m tired of simple bitches like this author – J.W., the only male who had something negative to “contribute”

Does she even love her husband? – anonymous

I know plenty of women who follow these rules and get beat, cheated on, etc. So I’d like to respectfully FOH with this shit… I am one of those women that don’t STFU and decided to have a career… I’m not one of those women willing to settle for some guy for the sake of having a ring on it. Much less some guy that thinks my place is to have his dick in my mouth and STFU. I’m good on that. I’m looking for a partner not a master… – D.R.

I will not bother to address the head issue. Fact: If you do not give head, you are obsolete. Period. I don’t think there’s much to debate. If you think giving head is “disgusting” then you probably don’t have a very enjoyable sex life, married or not. And if you think that’s gross, you wanna hear something that’s REALLY gross? There is NO PART of my husband’s body I will NOT put in my mouth. Isn’t that disgusting? Ha ha!

Nor will I address concerns about the state of my marriage or being called a bird or a bitch because I understand that people feel comfortable under the relative guise of anonymity the internet provides to say the kind of shit that would, in real life, get you slapped. And that’s okay. I don’t do it, but I understand why others would. Moving on…

I would like to address STFU.

I abbreviated many of the comments to show you the most childish parts, but the gist of them go something like this:

WHO are YOU to tell ME that I need to STFU? I have earned (insert what they consider to be impressive credentials) and you are promoting (insert some misguided historical and/or misogynistic perspective here) and not only that but lemme tell you WHY I don’t get what you are really trying to tell me, BITCH.

First lemme say, ya mama’s a bitch…Yeah I said it.

Second, let me help you out. Faux feminists kill me. You took one class in women’s studies in undergrad and now you can’t stand the idea that a man may think he’s better at you at something – ANYTHING. I hate to break it to you but guess what? Many of them ARE better than you at many things, and if that means hiring a male fireman who can carry my fat ass out of a burning building instead of a female who CAN’T (cause, as previously stated, I’m fat) then dammit, ladies, get in the unemployment line cause I’m not getting any thinner. But that point is neither here nor there because its.not.even.relevant. You brought up historical perspective on shit that doesn’t even need a historical perspective. STFU is something that applies to ALL ASPECTS OF YOUR LIFE.

ALL of them.

Some of you have taken to heart the fact that I was speaking to women in regard to men. “way to bring back antiquated perspectives. Way to set us back 100 years, BITCH.” You’re gonna get sick of calling me a bitch. . . Yet NONE OF YOU seemed to think shutting the fuck up was a bad idea when it came to the men. When I told guys to shut up, women were like, hell.yeah. Even those who were like, “fuck her.” I’m talking to YOU, J.W.. . . So why is that, you demanders of equal rights for women? WHERE was your historical perspective then? There was none. WHY? Cause it didn’t apply. Why didn’t it apply? Because it wasn’t relevant. I directed my first note to the ladies because I honestly believe we are the superior sex. My delivery wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine because a.) I’m not Oprah – I keeps it real and b.) I know we can do better. We are NOT the nagging, chicken head heauxs they make us out to be. Our contributions are just as valuable as any man’s, but aren’t recognized because we spend so much time talking about absolutely.nothing.

It’s a universally applicable and clearly (per receipt of my comments above) very rarely applied concept. I chose the romantic relationship aspect to which to apply it because that was the particular topic I chose to discuss. If I were talking about raising your kids, dealing with a problem with your best friends, or how to deal with your in-laws (whoops! You’d have to be married to have those – nevermind), or how to land that promotion in the career for which you have chosen above fostering healthy relationships, the bullet STFU would STILL.BE.THERE…

So let me take a moment to explain WHY.

There are clearly, as demonstrated by the comments above, many people who have lead lives so unexamined and lacking in introspection that they cannot ever think of a time where they should have just STFU. There is not one debate, not one blog uncommented on, not ONE argument that could have been avoided if they had just chosen to NOT say anything at all. “STFU!? You mean there is a time where someone just gets sick of me expressing my thoughtless, biased, and often uneducated opinion?” YES. “What do you mean people get embarrassed when I come around or that people get physically ill at the sound of my voice?” YES!!! Those of you who think I am just making shit up, ASK your significant other. Ask him, ladies and my one male in opposition, if there was EVER a time where he wished you would just STFU. That one time you got put out of the restaurant for talking bad to your waitress? How about that time you called his sister a crackhead? No? Don’t think you shoulda shut up then?

You do. You can think of 100 times where you thought, I probably shouldn’t have said that. So WHY doesn’t that apply to the person who means the most to you? Why doesn’t that person make you want to please them? And why do you think pleasing that person means you have to stifle your very being or do something “disgusting” to them? IS your very being your ability to run your mouth incessantly? If shutting up means you now consider yourself to be “someone else,” or “being false” then you are clearly more about talking about it then being about it anyway, and my blog was for the doers, not the shit talkers. Don’t let your strong black womanhood get in the way of experiencing love as it should be, between two people who care enough about each other to compromise and make sacrifices. It’s not about you bowing down to anything. Its about knowing when battles are better fought with your mouth…or with your *mouth* (Ha! Get it?! It’s about shutting up AND giving head!) FYI, these questions are not meant to be answered in the comments section of this blog. You need to answer these questions for yourselves, blog haters.

So before you go making comments about shit you don’t know about, let me tell you a little about me: My parents were married for 37 years before my father dropped dead on a tennis court on 05. My mother still considers herself to be married. I have been married for 3 years now. We were together 2 years before we got married and before you go talking shit about our tenure together, lemme tell you that just because you’ve been together 10 years, doesn’t mean your relationship is awesome…and you STILL ain’t married. I am married to a short, really cute, brown skinned alpha man who often gets mistaken for a Dominican cause he has straight hair. I think he’s the bee’s knees, and if you’ve ever met him, you do, too.

I had a baby at 19. I then went on to complete 3 degrees (1b, 2 m). This will be the ONLY TIME you will ever hear me say that because I hate people who constantly berate me with their rags to riches stories and fancy degrees. Fuck you, I got 3 of ‘em WITH a baby. Boo-ya. As a result, I have a really sweet job where I get a lot of money, to do work that is not super hard, and I can wear whatever I want to work. Private sector rocks!

And if the above isn’t reason enough to get like me, here’s the piece de resistance:

You know what I miss about single motherhood? NOTHING. There is nothing glamorous about deciding to reproduce with someone who doesn’t love you or respect you enough to marry you or take care of his kids. Been there. Done that. Over it.

Four Words:
Get Like Me, Bitches. (Ha! WHO’S the bitch now?!)Klkenned

And yes, you can follow me on twitter…that is, if I accept your follow request. *block game proper*

Like I mentioned to the ladies, I am married. I am married to a very happy man who tells me often, “Man, I am so glad I married you.” Want to know why?

Because there are many, many benefits to marriage, one of which is a nice late night sandwich (with lettuce and tomato) after sex. Want some peanut butter crackers while you work on your proposal, Hon? Coming right up! All that wonderful advice I offered to the ladies last time was just for the audition. It gets better when she gets the part.

But how do you get a woman like that? “How do I-I-I get a woman who cooks, and cleans, and lets me watch the game with my friends without trying to talk to me about what she read on Bossip today? How can I find a girl who does things that make my toes curl and does so without saying shit like “This tastes funny” *mood killer*?” Let me help you out. There are some misconceptions and preconceived notions about women – things that have even led you to believe that you, boys, are the superior sex. I will not mock you or throw stones at your ignorance, but I will let you in on a few secrets that will enable you to finally understand why all you seem to deal with are hood rats or those suffering from an acute case of Gabrielle Union Syndrome. Honestly guys, it’s time to step your dating game up. I know plenty of single women who make a lot of money and got a lot of stamps on their passports, but aren’t interested in you because you.are.wack. I know you’re all like, “I’m not looking for a serious relationship right now, anyway.” But I and the old raggedy pillow you’ve had since 7th grade sleep away camp and hold oh so closely at night in your cold, lonely bed know the truth.
If you know my work, this may look familiar…

Read. I’m not saying subscribe to Oprah magazine, or start hosting book clubs at your house (not a bad idea? WRONG – lots of educated ladies, lots of really boring conversation). I’m saying that you need to try to understand the feminine perspective. I recommend something light because I know you all have short attention spans, so start off with something man oriented, yet handy, like Esquire. In fact, if you don’t subscribe to Esquire, then you should stop reading here because you clearly can’t read.

Keep a clean house. Are you 30 years old, and still have 1 set of plaid sheets? Do you still have that raggedy ass leather sofa from undergrad with all kinds of DNA samples in the living room of your moldy smelling apartment? Do you sleep on an air mattress stacked on top of some storage containers because the bed you “ordered” is “on the way?” If the answer is yes, then you, sir, are an undateable (like an untouchable, but based on the reality of the situation instead of some mde up cultural crap) and if you meet a woman who takes note of the above, and proceeds without comment, then SURPRISE! She won’t mind that moldy cheese smell cause she’s a fucking.hood.rat. Period.

I have asked the ladies to STFU. However, gentlemen, STFU a.) goes both ways and b.) has to be earned. What I mean by “earned” is that you can’t run off and do stupid shit, and think your girl isn’t supposed to say anything about it. Don’t stroll into the house with lipstick on your collar, blood on your shirt, and one shoe on and say, “I don’t want to talk about it right now,” and wonder why she cussed your ass out. And really guys, you aren’t fooling anyone with “women gossip, men don’t.” One of the most endearing traits of a dear friend of mine is his refusal to share the intimate details of his encounters with women. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH ASS YOU CAN GET IF YOU JUST STFU??? I feel like I need to say that again.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH ASS YOU CAN GET IF YOU JUST STFU???

Honestly, I just gave you the keys to the fucking city. Not only do you cut your drama quotient IN HALF but women will look at your cool dismissal of personal inquiries as you being an International Man of Mystery. AND they will do FREAKY shit to you if they are confident that all your frat brothers aren’t waiting in the living room waiting for you to come out and show them the highlights video. Which leads me to another point – a point that I don’t think I need to mention to the ladies because, as the superior sex, we know better…

Watch the company you keep. I know your best friend from the hood (you know, that nigga Craig who sleeps on the sofa?) has hit a rough patch, and you’re just helping him out, but its shady dudes like that you have to watch out for. Not only will his weed smelling, free loading ass hide in the closet and videotape your sexual encounters without your consent, but he will then hit on your girl while you’re in the shower. Don’t act like you don’t know people like this, and I’m telling you now, lose these people. Stat. There is nothing worse than going to a dude’s house and watching some creepy ass spook creep out of the broom closest that’s doubling as your guest bedroom, and slink into the kitchen to a.) see what you look like and b.) take note of where you left your purse so he can steal your identity. He’s not your wingman, he’s your albatross.

I said, ladies, get your head game right. I would like to say that tenfold to you clit gnawing, lip sucking coochie monsters out there. WHO told you my vagina + your teeth = a good idea? Do you WANT me to kabong you on the top of your head? Did you see that in a movie and thought it would be a good idea to suck like the antidote is in there? Cause it’s not. . .And speaking of movies, I would like to remind the fellas that porn is fake, so strolling into the bedroom with a bottle of cooking oil cause you saw that shit on Booty Talk #32 isn’t a good idea. What they didn’t show you on Booty Talk was the Monistat Alexxxis had to buy after that scene (ewwww). And NO, you can’t shoot jizz on my chin, forehead, or the back of my knee. Stop it. Really, you just need to be happy to be here, and get out of here with that weirdo porn shit. Oh and that whole, “its not the size of the boat, it’s the motion of the ocean” shit is just a little something we say to make you feel better. Sorry.

Guys, be a man. Not an asshole, a douche bag, a deadbeat, a drunk, a loser, or on that little boy shit. I don’t need to state that you should take care of your kids, be respectful, blah blah blah. However, I DO need to state that if you think making people feel less by being condescending is the best way to have fun, than your dick is smaller than you’d like to think it is. Much, much smaller. If you think fighting in the club is still cool, then you deserve to be with that ride or die hood rat chick who will fight right along beside you. You go ahead and be The Old Nigga in the Club, and I’ll be at home, criminal case free, making a sandwich for my criminal case pending-free husband.

And while I’m talkin shit, lemme just add that women aren’t the only one with daddy issues. That nigga didn’t love you either, and now you’re running around here talking about “you don’t love no heauxs.” REALLY? You and I both know that all you want is someone to love your ashy ass. Or maybe your daddy WAS around. And maybe him being around was the best example of how to treat a woman like shit. Either way, you need to get over yourself and realize that just because your daddy didn’t love you don’t mean you should NOT love anyone else.

I hope I’m not coming off too preachy, and I’m not saying, “This is how you find your wife.” These are just a few tips to keep women from posting fucked up videos about your bunk bed on YouTube (take note, Young Money). Cause, like my boy El Jugo said, “Everyone ain’t able.” I’m just saying, it’s time for you to hang up your *I Heart Bustdowns* t-shirt and get like me…